


Hot Tea and Comfort

by ameliacareful



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel is unfazed, Comfort without Plot, Dean is too, Explicit Language, Gen, Jack is very happy, Post-Episode: s13e21 Beat the Devil, Recreational Drug Use, Sam is having a post-adrenaline moment, This is CWP, You've heard of pwp, it's like aftercare for violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:51:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14574351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ameliacareful/pseuds/ameliacareful
Summary: When Sam walks into camp, he's died, been resurrected, manipulated by Lucifer.  He is awash in shame and guilt.  When Dean sees Sam walk into camp, he's seen his brother die and left behind.Both of them need a few moments.Luckily, Mary is prepared.+   +   +





	Hot Tea and Comfort

Coda 13 x 21

 

            Sam feels the shame wash over him when everyone sees Lucifer. He’s sick with it. At that moment he thinks about the ‘choice’ he made and second guesses it again.

            “Get away from my brother,” Dean snarls and the moment shatters. Dean starts towards him, Mary covers her mouth with her hands, Castiel and Gabriel stride towards Lucifer, and most unexpected, Jack runs into Sam so hard he knocks him down.

            Jack is joyful. “Sam!” he says. “Sam!”

            He is going to be so disappointed, Sam thinks.

            Jack literally lifts away from Sam, looking surprised and Sam levers himself up on his elbows, lying against the wet spring ground. Dean has hauled Jack off of Sam and he leans over and pulls Sam to his feet. Dean’s face—

            Dean’s face.

            It is so filled with emotion. When Dean came back from Purgatory, he said he couldn’t tell the difference between feelings. Couldn’t tell if it was anger or joy. He could only tell how high up the amplifier was, how strong whatever it was he was feeling was hitting him. It made sense. Your heart hammers, your stomach twists, the difference between anger and fear is in your brain, what it says your hammering heart means.

            Sam braces himself.

            But it’s just a litany of “ _Sammy Sammy Sammy,”_ on continue, Dean clearly unaware of what he’s saying, pulling at Sam’s shirt to look at his neck. “ _You’re cold do you feel cold? Sammy, you’re cold, you can’t be cold you’re alive. Sam. Sam._ ”  

            “Not even a thank you note,” Lucifer says. “Kids these days. Don’t your parents teach you anything?”

            Sam shudders and looks past his mother and his brother and Jack to see Gabriel grab Lucifer’s collar and drag him away. “Shut up,” Gabe snaps.

            “Oh right,” Lucifer says as he is pulled away, “I’m your dad. I’m supposed to teach you.”

            Mary says, “I’m going to get something hot. And some soap and water.” She’s crying and Sam wants to say he’s sorry but he honestly is afraid to.

            “Are you okay?” Jack asks plaintively.

            “Yeah,” Sam manages a smile, “I’m fine.”

 

#

 

            Mary has one of the cabins which, if the unmade folded out couch and bed and cot and sleeping bags are any indication, she shares with several people. But there is no one there now and she directs them to sit on the bed. It’s one room with a sink and a non-working stove on one side and in a space where the refrigerator used to be there’s a wood burning stove. The walls are peeled log. It looks a little like a hotel room—clothing and shoes scattered, beds unmade—and a little like an Army Surplus store threw up.

            Dean can feel Sam’s arm in his, can feel how his brother allows himself to be manhandled into sitting down. Sam’s eyes are clear. He’s a bloody mess.  

            “Are you cold?” Dean asks. “You feel cold. Did he touch you? Did he hurt you?”

            Sam looks down and away. “I’m okay,” he says. Which is not an answer. _But he’s not dead. Not dead not dead not dead._ He doesn’t even seem to have any injuries.

            Mary is putting more wood in the stove. There’s a kettle on top. “Soon as the water’s hot, I’ll have some tea for you,” she promises. “And warm water to clean up. Dean, I’m going to see if I can get him some clean clothes, will you watch?”

            “Yeah. Are you hungry?” Dean asks.

            Sam shakes his head, still not meeting anyone’s eyes.

            _I am never doing this again,_ Dean thinks. _We are getting out of here. Going back to the bunker. Leaving Lucifer in this hell hole. Lucifer will never touch him again. Nothing will ever touch him again. I can’t do this. I can’t. Sam. Sam Sam SamSamSam._ “32 inch waist,” Dean says. “The longest whatever you can find. L or XL shirt.”

            “I’m okay,” Sam says, frowning. “These people need their clothes.”

            “Yours are all bloody,” Jack says. “You need new ones.”

            “Nothing will fit,” Sam says.

            Dean can feel that he is on the edge of the shakes. He’s pretty sure Sam is too. It happens after a really bad fight, sometimes. One or both of them get the shakes. “Shhhh shhhh,” Dean says.

            “Sam,” Jack says. “I can kill him.”

            Dean looks up at Jack and shakes his head. The kid means well but not now. “We’ll decide that later,” he says.

            “But he hurt Sam,” Jack points out. “Sam’s hands are shaking.”

            “It’s just a reaction,” Sam says.

            “Your system has been flooded with adrenaline for hours,” Jack says. “Now you are experiencing a kind of shock.”

            Sam exhales in a shaky laugh. “Yeah.”

            “Dean is also.”

            Sam looks at Dean then, directly at him. A world of emotions; sadness, guilt, shame, and sheer desperate emotional need.

            “It’s okay,” Dean says.

            The door clicks shut behind them and Dean thinks it must be Mary already back for something but Cas says, “It is a normal reaction, Jack. They’re…they will be all right.”

            “How can I help?”

            Dean looks around. “You could make tea,” he says. He doesn’t want tea, he wants a cup of coffee and something stiff to spike it with.

            “Stop kneeling in front of me like a fucking moron,” Sam says quietly.

            Dean _is_ kneeling in front of Sam, one hand on his knee. Sam’s knee. Sam doesn’t feel dead and Dean knows what someone dead feels like in all the stages. Lifelike, then cool, then cold and stiff and gone. _Gone gone gone._

            _I can’t do this again,_ Dean thinks again.

            Jack and Cas pour hot water into mugs. There is some kind of herbal shit there to make tea. Fucking tea. Sam goes through tea phases where he drinks tea while he researches—usually a sporadic attempt to cut his caffeine consumption. It doesn’t matter. Tea doesn’t actually do anything. Coffee gets you going. Coffee with whiskey gets you going while keeping you calm. As his dad used to say, the poor man’s speedball.

            Dean gets up, his knees cracking. He sinks onto the bed next to Sam, knee beside knee.

            Sam rubs his face and his hands are shaking. And filthy. There is blood and dirt under his nails. _How did you get your own blood under your nails_ , Dean thinks and like most of what he is thinking, doesn’t say it. “Don’t,” Dean says and grabs Sam’s wrists.

            Sam looks at him, confused.

            “Don’t rub around your eyes. Your hands are dirty,” Dean says, like that explains everything, like they don’t routinely end up covered in grave dirt and monster guts. Like Sam is six.

            Sam nods and studies his hands. Sam doesn’t like his hands. He went through a period where he hated his hands. Said they were weird. Now he puts his palms together and hides them between his knees.

            “Are you okay?” Sam asks Jack.

            Jack nods. “I’ve learned to fight the angels, Sam. I’m really good. But sometimes people still die.”

            “Yeah,” Sam says quietly. “They do.”

 

#

 

            Mary comes back with a shirt and a jacket. “I couldn’t find pants,” she admits.

            Sam smiles a little. “These are great, really,” he says. “The tea, too.” He goes to pick up the tea and his hand is shaking so bad that it spills.

            Mary sits down and takes the cup. “Let me, baby,” she says and holds it for him. Sam covers her clean hand with his dirty one and takes a sip and Dean thinks he could cry. He doesn’t know if it’s because he doesn’t want her taking care of Sam or he does.

            “Tell me what you’ve been doing here,” Sam says.

            Jack launches into a story about how he rescued Mary and how they met Bobby Singer.

            Dean is pretty sure Sam isn’t tracking but Cas is. Cas drinks up Jack like he can’t get enough. Mary hands Dean a plastic bowl and pours water into it. She adds hot water from the kettle. The water sloshes a little in Dean’s hands but he steadies himself. He can let go after Sam is taken care of but the thing he needs most is all here.

            Sam takes off his bloody clothing. Under his blood stained jacket, his shirt is stiff on the side where he bled. He reaches for the clean t-shirt but Dean grabs his hands and washes them gently with a soapy rag. Then Dean gestures towards Sam’s body and Sam lets him wash the blood off his neck and face, lets him use warm soapy water on his shoulder and chest. “I’m okay,” Sam murmurs. “You should be checking on Him.”

            “Fuck Lucifer,” Mary says.

            Jack grins. “Fuck Lucifer,” he echoes. “He can wait.”

            “Jack,” Cas says.

            “It’s true,” Jack says quietly. “So, then, we found out that all of Michael’s army has left. So we go to their headquarters—what?” Jack is looking at Mary who is shaking her head slightly.

            “Maybe we’ll tell them all later. I think Dean and Sam need something to eat. Can you see if Emma will make sandwiches?”

            Dean figures there is something coming that he needs to hear.

            Sam is still shaking, still a little wide around the eyes. He has trouble with the gray t-shirt. Dean knows what he needs. He needs a hot shower and a chance to come down. He needs to feel safe and not think. Dean needs all that like water right now. He needs safety and Sam and the relentless pound of the bunker’s showers. He needs a drink and to just sit with Sam and ride this out.

            “Have you got anything to…to drink?” Dean asks.

            “No,” Mary says. “They’re making wine but they say it’s not ready yet.”

            “This sucks,” Dean says to no one in particular.

            “Mary smokes weed,” Jack says helpfully. “She says it’s kind of like alcohol. Sam, have you smoked weed?”

            Dean laughed. “Has Sam smoked weed? Dude! He was in college!”

            Sam looked exasperated. “Twice. And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t weed because I didn’t feel anything.”

 

#

 

            Sam waves one big (clean) hand. “I’m fine! I don’t need that!”

            Dean watches Mary pack a little bong.

            “One of our first dates was a Led Zeppelin concert,” Mary says. “Did you really think we never tried it?”

            “Dad smoked pot?” Sam asks.

            “It made him paranoid,” Mary says. “So no, he didn’t.”  

            “But he had to try it, to know that it made him paranoid,” Dean says. He is trying to picture John Winchester stoned.

            “He was in Vietnam, Dean. He smoked pot. He told me he tried opium once in a little hut on the border of Laos.” She lites the bong with a battered bic lighter and hands it to Dean. It’s not very big. He takes a hit and the smoke is hot, skunky and green.

            Sam leans down and tentatively takes a hit. He holds it a moment and then coughs violently. “It’s a lot harsher than cigarettes,” he says. Dean is still holding the bong. Sammy is playing a good game of sounding all right but his full on into the shakes, shaking like he has a fever. Probably, knowing Sam, in full after mode. Sam said once when he gets like that it’s like nothing is real. He can’t exactly feel the floor under his feet.

            “Another hit,” Dean says, hoping it doesn’t actually make things worse.

            Mary feeds Sam sweet tea. It’s a little ludicrous that they are all waiting on his 6’ 4” brother. The room is getting warm and it’s nice.

            Jack comes back with a plate with a couple of rough looking sandwiches.  The bread is home made and there's some sliced ham.  Castiel takes the plate and comes to offer a sandwich to Sam.  Sam shakes his head.

            Castiel tears some off and holds out his fingers.  

            "Go ahead," Dean says to both of them.  Cas feeds Sam the sandwich, a few bites at a time, and then to Dean's surprise, offers him a bite, too.  Without thinking, Dean takes from Cas' fingers and Cas gives him the tiniest of smiles.  The ham is country ham, packed in salt and age-cured.  Dean hadn't known he was so hungry. 

            Jack chatters about the organization of the camp and about Mary giving out clothes to refugees.

            “Why don’t you lay back against the pillows, honey?” Mary asks Sam.

            Sam shakes his head.

            Dean takes another hit, hands it to Mary who also takes a hit. She acts like someone who knows what they’re doing; inhaling, holding.

            Mary hands it to Dean to give to Sam but Sam shakes his head. “It’s harsh,” he says. “I don’t think it works on me. Sleeping pills don’t work on me.” Not since he went to the Cage. They don’t do much for Dean, either.

            “I can make it better,” Dean says. “I’ll shot gun.” He takes a big hit and turns to Sam.

            “Inhale when he exhales,” Mary says.

            Dean leans close, lips touching, and breathes into Sam’s mouth. His breath going into Sam. Air, Sam’s lungs expanding and the heat of Sam close to him. Sam’s eyes are closed as if they were kissing, his head tilted slightly. Dean has cleaned Sam up and stitched him together but this is a first.

            Dean notices that there is writing on Sam’s mug. It says _Reds_ and for a moment Dean thinks maybe this was a camp for communists and then remembers they’re in Ohio and it’s probably for the baseball team.

            The stuff they’re smoking is potent. Dean feels quite high.

            Jack sits cross-legged on the floor, absorbed in what they are doing. “What is that called?”

            “It’s a bong,” Cas says.

            “Why are you using that instead of the pipe?” Jack asks.

            “It will be easier for Sam, not as hot,” Mary says.

            Dean thinks he’s going to get whiplash. “Wait, Cas, have you smoked pot?”

            “No,” Cas says. “It would take a great deal to affect me so I have never felt that it would be worth the effort.”

            “My mom has a bong,” Sam says.

            “Yeah, well, on the scale of I’m in an alternate universe and I died yesterday and my mom has a bong, I’m going to say your sense of what to be surprised about is pretty skewed,” Dean says.

            “I’ve died before but I’ve never smoked pot with my mom,” Sam pointed out.

            “I think you’re high,” Mary says.

            “I think I am,” Sam says, surprised. “I…I think I was before but it’s not like being drunk and I didn’t recognize it.”

            “How do you feel?” Mary asks.

            Sam smiles. “Better.”

            And that is how they pass the next couple of hours before they make the hard decisions of what comes next.

**Author's Note:**

> \+ + +
> 
> I wanted comfort but as Julia-sets on Tumblr pointed out, Apoco-World isn't high on amenities. So I got the idea that maybe they'd care for Sam in whatever way they could. And for Dean, as well--although part of caring for Dean is letting him care for Sam.


End file.
